Vienna
by bethygrace
Summary: Olicity angsty goodness - He had missed all the signs. And she was his mirror, showing him the cost. Everything up to 2x10 is up for grabs. I would highly recommend listening to "Vienna" by the Fray.
1. There goes the downpour

**AN: So I'm not sure where this little plot bunny came from, but it's got me up way past my bedtime trying to get it out. I don't own Arrow. And reviews make my day.**

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_The day's last one-way ticket train pulls in _  
_We smile for the casual closure capturing_  
_There goes the downpour _  
_There goes my fare thee well _

_There's really no way to reach me_  
_'Cause I'm already gone _

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Thinking back, he could see it. He could tell when he began to punish her. To punish them all. The pace he had set was cruel and the expectations too high.

They eyed him with trust and concern, not knowing how to approach him now.

Things had changed. The island had followed him home, and his demons were hot on his heels. A part of him wished he could run back to purgatory, tricking them into following. But as he spent his hours chasing down leads on the man in the skull mask, he realized that his demons were firmly entrenched in his city.

He had completely missed when they infiltrated his team.

Until that night.

It was well past 4 a.m. and they had been there for more than twelve hours. The tension was palpable as he paced heavily behind her chair. Back and forth. Back and forth. Wearing the concrete down, whipping his eyes to the screen every few moments as she searched. His demands were met with quiet acquiescence, belying the harsh tone he took as the night dragged on. That should have been his first sign. But he didn't have time to notice.

He hadn't noticed her untouched Chinese that Diggle had picked up hours before, or her hunched shoulders. All he saw was red. He saw blood. The island. Things he never wanted to think about again, yet seemed to be chasing him down.

He vaguely noticed Diggle slumping onto the training mats, covering his eyes with his arms and allowing himself a brief rest. He was a soldier and while tiring, the pace they had adopted was not uncommon during his time in Afghanistan. Oliver didn't have to worry about him.

His pacing slowed when an alert rang out from her system, pulling him to her side in a flash. He demanded an answer, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the data. She hesitated, leaning closer to look at the results. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head, telling him without words that they were back to ground zero again.

Another dead end. A growl issued up from his chest as his clenched fists slammed mercilessly onto the desktop. If he had been paying attention, he would have seen her flinch at the noise and at his anger, drawing back into her chair with a hand held to her forehead, rubbing furiously at her temple. If he had noticed, he would have heard the shaky sigh that fell from her lips as he stalked away toward the salmon ladder.

He isn't sure what she did during his workout. All he was focusing on was keeping the fear from completely overwhelming his soul. With each rung of the ladder, he felt himself regaining a bit of control over his emotions. Each time the metal clanged against wood, he shoved another demon back in his mind into its appropriate corner. By the time he released the bar and landed gracefully on the floor, he had pulled himself somewhat together. At least enough to turn and observe his team. Diggle was passed out on the training mat, snoring softly. Felicity was still at her computers, but she wasn't working. Her fists were clenched against her eyes, elbows resting on the desktop.

With a heavy sigh, he realized that while he preferred not to sleep, avoiding the darkness that met him there when he closed his eyes, these two, his team, they needed more. They needed to not feel the weight of his crusade as heavy as he did.

He decisively stepped forward, reaching an arm out to shake Diggle's shoulder. The soldier's eyes snapped open, fully alert and ready to move. A quick nod from Oliver was all it took for the man to rise from the floor and head for the door with a quick 'goodbye' to Felicity.

His eyes moved across the room to her and he felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she wouldn't be getting any sleep that night at all. They were due in the office in a few hours and she was still wearing the same grey dress she had yesterday. Approaching her quietly, he dropped a hand to her shoulder, noting the tension beneath his hand as he told her to head home.

With a nod, she rose, turning away from him to reach for her purse. She looked back at him for a moment and for a moment, he saw it. But before he could comment, her eyes were rolling back in her head and he was catching her as her body fell limp to the ground.

He didn't recognize the voice that whispered her name in fear as he caught her weight easily, swooping one arm under her knees to lift her into his arms. The tight concern in his own voice, laced with tendrils of fear sounded foreign as he repeated her name, once, again, pleading with her to open her eyes.

His unsteady hand caught hold of her tiny wrist, seeking the comforting and steady beat of her heart. The blessed sound that signified that he hadn't pushed her too far.

But somewhere in between the monitors and the couch in the corner, he saw with his own eyes that he had. Her normally creamy skin was ashen with exhaustion, the delicate tissue beneath her eyes dark and bruised in the dim light. A gentle hand across her forehead detected the fever that her body had finally succumbed to. His thumb brushed across dry, colorless lips and sunken cheeks. She had lost weight. Enough that he could see it in her face, could feel it as he carried her. Her softness had been replaced with hard edges, making him wonder the last time he had seen her eat.

His hand traced down her cold arm to her soft hand, gripping it in his as guilt washed over him. He had missed all the signs of her breaking point, and had kept pushing her past it. Pushing them all.

Tucking a blanket around her form gently, he retrieved a cool towel from the bathroom, returning to hold it tenderly to her checks and her forehead. As she lay there, he caught himself thinking how far she would let him push her. Not in his mission, but away from him. Away from this life that was draining her steadily. That was covering the light he had grown to love about her.

His thoughts were interrupted as the center of them tossed her head to one side, eyelashes fluttering lazily. His hand was there on her cheek, reassuring her as she came back to consciousness slowly. Her eyes met his and he felt his stomach drop. The utter exhaustion in them stole his breath and he couldn't help the way his voice softened as it spoke her name.

This was it. He knew it in his soul. She would leave him now. No, she wasn't lying here bleeding, or poisoned. She hadn't been kidnapped this time. Instead, she was lying here weak, exhausted, sick. Because he had pushed her to the limit and beyond. Not even noticing her body weakening each day.

His guilt assuaged momentarily as a cold hand covered his on her cheek and a soft smile warmed her pale face. His eyes met hers, scared to see his fears confirmed in their soft blue depths. What he saw instead was the same trust and adoration, faith and devotion, loyalty and if he was honest…love, the same things she showed him everyday.

He rose reluctantly and returned as quickly as he could, medicine for her fever and water in hand. She took it gratefully, resting against his hand as it cupped her neck to help her take a sip. Her eyes fluttered closed as he rested her back against the pillow, stroking his thumb from her temple to her jaw before letting his hand fall to wrap around hers.

She squeezed his fingers softly, before whispering that she was going to sleep for a while. Unable to formulate a quality response, he nodded, tucking the blanket ever tighter around her, situating the cool towel back across her warm forehead. Her hand grasped his yet again, squeezing again, confirming. Assuring.

She wasn't going anywhere.


	2. This is my goodness

**Well I was originally thinking that was a moving one-shot, but in the same way the tone of the first part seemed to describe Oliver's darkness and guilt well, I wanted to provide the counterpoint - Felicity's light, brightness, and overall life. So here is a quick wrap-up to it. Reviews make my day!**

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_There's so many words that we can say_

_Spoken upon long-distance melody_

_This is my hello_

_This is my goodness_

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She was warm.

That was the first feeling she recognized as she felt herself beginning to wake. Warmth wrapped all around her, breaking through the heavy fog of deep sleep she was stirring from.

Sound entered her stream of consciousness next, notably the familiar and comforting hum of the lair. She was ensconced in blankets and a very familiar smelling leather jacket on the couch in the corner.

Comfort. This was the definition, she would bet on it. Her limbs still heavy with sleep, she tried to recall the last time she felt this rested, but honestly she couldn't. The pace of her life as a corporate executive assistant to one Oliver Queen and IT support for Starling City's newly-masked hero did not lend itself towards regular sleep, or even the deep, feel-it-in-your-bones rest she was stirring from.

Senses sharpening, she noted the soft sounds of activity nearby. Probably Oliver.

She didn't have to open her eyes to see his annoyingly handsome face splash across her mind's eye. She could still the warmth of his hand as it cupped her cheek, communicating the concern she saw in his eyes but he never voiced. A man of many masks and walls, he had left himself wide open for observation as he had handed her medicine and water. His gaze on her had been troubled and tender all at once, with the undercurrent of permanent guilt that shrouded all of his expressions. Despite her weariness, she couldn't bear to just watch it flit across his strong features, and had tried her hardest to infuse her own expression with all the loyalty and genuine care she had for him. She must've fallen asleep at that point, because her last visual memory was a pair of soulful blue eyes.

With a soft sigh, she began to force her own eyes open. The lair was rather dark and it took her longer than normal to get used to the darkness. Turning her head lightly on its pillow, she could see the faint glow from her monitors creating an outline of light around the object of her musings. He wasn't touching anything, just staring at the monitor with a blank expression anyone else would assume was boredom or disinterest. Anyone who didn't know the man beneath the mask.

She took the rare opportunity to observe him in stillness, in quiet. Two things that would never be associated with Oliver Queen. The mask currently held in place was one she was quite familiar with, pieced together with jagged tiles of guilt, self-blame, and the weight of his crusade. Of their mission. Glued in place by his stubborn insistence for martyrdom. His eyes were dulled by equal parts responsibility and vulnerability. Of course, the vulnerability itself came off as arrogance, a forced irresponsibility, and sometimes even levity.

Her sigh must've been louder than she thought as she watched Oliver's eyes dart to her, his whole body on alert for a moment. Within seconds, he was moving towards her, his brow furrowed in equal parts concern and relief. She smiled sleepily as he sat on the side of the couch, his hip brushing hers.

"Felicity." She was surprised by the hoarseness of his voice, and even more surprised when his hand shot up to caress her forehead before sliding down to cup her cheek. "Your fever broke." The tension in his shoulders loosened just a bit and she saw the concern ease slightly in his eyes.

"Fever? I was just tired." She honestly had no recollection of anything beyond falling asleep here. "How long did I sleep?"

His eyes darkened for just a moment and she saw the concern jump back to the front of the startling blue gaze. "You've been out for a little more than a day, about 26 hours." Her jaw dropped just a bit at that, watching his face still for a moment in response. "You were beyond exhausted. Felicity, you fainted. I took your temperature after you went to sleep and it was over a hundred." The muscle in his jaw twitched for a moment as he looked away from her.

She grabbed his hand quickly, tugging on it to draw his eyes back to hers. In them, she saw the emotions he had unwittingly reveal the day before. The guilt there was louder than any other noise in the room, probably louder than the music pumping upstairs in the club.

She knew him, and knew the blame he was about to take on himself. He would likely try to convince her that it was his fault she was sick. That she was tired. And that he was responsible for it all. That was his MO after all.

Moving herself into a sitting position was a great plan with awful execution. Sleeping for a full day had made her muscles as soft as marshmallows and she was infinitely grateful for the strong-as-steel arms that reached out to support her as she leaned against the back of the couch. She was not as imposing a figure as she would have liked to be in that moment, but her words would have to communicate all the conviction her posture couldn't. She took his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly before capturing his gaze in hers. She noticed his nostrils flare a bit at the look in her eyes, one he likely wasn't expecting.

"Before you even open your mouth to tell me how this was all your fault and that you're pushing me too hard and that this is bad for me and that _you're_ bad for me and any more nonsense along those lines…you need to listen to me." She disregarded all levity and went for the strong tone, her borderline loud voice. She had to get his attention some way, and based on the firm straight line his lips were making, she had it.

"I was overtired. Not dead. Not poisoned. Overtired. That's what happens when I don't get enough sleep and I don't take care of myself. The key word, or letter really, because it's not a word, although we basically use it as one… anyway the important thing in that statement is "I." My choice, my life, my decision."

Oliver seemed to weigh this for a moment before opening his mouth to argue. She beat him to the punch, lifting her fingers to cover his lips softly, trying to hide the thrill she felt at the charge that rushed through at the contact.

"No. You're not going to do this. I chose this Oliver, the late nights and all. I chose_ you."_

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and she would later wonder if she had just imagined the ghost of a kiss she felt on her fingertips as he laced them with his, holding their joined hands in his lap.

"I have been pushing you too hard. Hell, I've been pushing myself too hard. We're all exhausted," he admitted, looking down to investigate the back of her hand as if it held the secrets of the world. "I've been so focused on the mirakuru and the man in the skull mask that I lost sight of everything else. I hadn't even noticed how tired you were, how exhausted Dig was. I could only see the mission."

She squeezed his fingers, drawing his gaze back to her. His face registered his shock at the warm, yet tired smile on her face, "It's one of the perils of being a hero, Oliver. You focus on what's most important. Sometimes to the point that it's all you see. But it doesn't make the resulting fallout your fault. It's just part of life."

He shook his head just a bit, "That's the thing. There are other things that are _more_ important than this mission, than me." The words were left hanging in the air, causing a little tendril of something to curl in her chest as she considered their meaning. His thumb began moving in tender figure-eights on the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry I pushed too hard. I'm sorry I lost sight of what's important in all this," his soft voice penetrated her thoughts, his eyes still focused on her hand in his.

She smiled at the sincerity and gentleness he was showing, and knew that just this once, she needed to accept the apology he was giving her and save the argument for another day, another fight.

"Well, this may be letting you off easy but I'll let you make it up to me," her cheeky tone drew his eyes to hers and she saw the corner of his mouth quirk at the mischievous look on her face. A single eyebrow lifted in question.

She grinned, "I've missed out on three potential meals due to my extended tenure as Snow White and I'm pretty sure I would eat John's biceps right now if cannibalism wasn't so…wrong. I would be willing to let you off the hook in exchange for food and glorious coffee."

He observed her for a moment, amusement dancing in his eyes layered with deep gratefulness. She was forgiving him, but doing so in a way that took his mind off of the gravity of their mission for a moment. She felt a thrill of joy as he gave her that small, sincere smile that she loved, the one she thought secretly that he reserved just for moments like this with her and her alone.

"You drive a hard bargain Miss Smoak, but I think that can be arranged," he said with another squeeze to her hand. She held his gaze for a moment, once again resting on their nonverbal connection to heap the forgiveness and grace onto his soul that he so desperately wanted.

For now, it was enough.


End file.
